


The Water Spirit's Song

by twistedthicket1



Series: Hum like a Honey Bee [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, One Shot, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 05:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedthicket1/pseuds/twistedthicket1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based on a prompt in which one character had to be a water spirit</p><p>Sherlock Holmes hates watching over Humans. Hates his job, taking care of the little village of Recheinbach. It's all boring. Boring and dull. All he has to do to keep himself busy is let it rain. Until a certain Human catches his eye, playing in his river. Suddenly, the young Water Spirit isn't so bored after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Water Spirit's Song

**Author's Note:**

> so, at some point I might actually turn this into a full fic(when I have more time and less other pieces on the go) but for now, I wrote this chapter up to ease the niggling of it at the back of my mind XP  
> If you have a prompt or constructive criticism, or you would like to see this be created into a longer fic at some point in the future, please don't hesitate to let me know!  
> I just got this prompt off of a random website.

 

 

Sometimes, Sherlock absolutely  _despised_  the Human race.

Hated it with a mindless sort of intensity, mourning the utter  _dullness_ of the entire species as a whole as he rested high up in the clouds. It drove him insane, the monotony of watching the Humans mill about on the earth below, like ants underneath his foot.

 

_Boring._

 

It made him want to smite them all, drown them in torrents of rain. Set alight their houses with lightning if only to watch them dance. However that was against his Spirit Conduct, and he already had three strikes. Completely uninteresting. He had already bugged his brother to the point where he was banished to the edge of the city he watched over, and Mycroft had sworn if he continued to push then winter wouldn't come to the small village of Recheinbach until May.

 

_Frost Spirits._

 

Sherlock thought with spite as he curled himself into a sulky ball atop his cloud, sighing to himself. Always telling him what to do and where to go. He wanted to be free as the thunder rolling on the horizon, ride the jet-black cumulus clouds and shape them into charcoal stallions that flew in the sky. He wanted to compose a beautiful melody out of rain only he could hear, listen to each and every bar as it danced atop the roofs of his people. The people he was assigned. If it had been his choice, he never would have taken the job.

 

Unfortunately, Mummy had been adamant on the eve of his one hundred and eighteenth birthday. She had claimed he needed 'structure' and 'responsibility', much to his appalled horror and distaste. He could still recall her words, the Moon Goddesses' long silver hair being braided expertly by lesser spirits as she had sat in her silken robes the colour of pale light.

 

_You need to learn affection, Sherlock. Humans are beautiful creatures, if you catch them at the right time. Give it a few hundred years, and I'm sure you will soon learn to love the village and its people._

 

It had already been fifty, and Sherlock still hated the sight of it. Then again, it wasn't like he could exactly  _see_ the people of his village, as he was currently banished to the outskirts of it. His stupid brother hadn't been as convinced of their mother's gesture of good faith, and monitored him closely to make sure he didn't drown his shrine worshippers on a lark. Though the Water Spirit had tried at first to care for his followers, he soon grew weary of the constant pleading. The constant prayers. Many so painfully dull.

 

_Please Water Spirit, please feed my crops and make them larger than my neighbour's._

 

_Please, use your healing powers and heal my son from his stupidity._

 

_Water Spirit, could you please keep my daughter safe while she's at sea?_

 

As if he had power over people's intelligence, or other districts outside of his domain. The first one was just petty. Just once, Sherlock would have given anything to find a request that was feasible for him as well as  _necessary._

But he held little hope from where he was, a solitary cloud in the pale blue sky. Soon, his people would get thirsty, their crops dry. Soon enough, Mycroft would reluctantly let him return anyway. However, Sherlock wasn't so sure he would bother.

 

Let the crops die.

What was far more interesting were the bees that buzzed by the bank of the river he drifted over, their intricate dancing from water lily to water lily at once beautiful as it was masterful. Sherlock lay on his stomach, staring down on the earth below. He propped his chin up in his hands and sighed bitterly.

 

Yes.

Bees were by far more interesting than any Human Being could be.

He drew his ocean-blue robe closer over him, creating a blanket as he fell into a lazy doze. The hot summer sun made him like this, sleepy.

He just hoped vaguely to himself that his nose wouldn't burn as he slept.

 

****

“Come  _on_ Jounhin, I want to go swimming! It's so hot!” Harry rolled her eyes at her older brother, tugging his hand excitedly even as they crept past their neighbour's homes. The tow-headed boy, nearly twice her size and as tanned as a nut from the summer's sun, dragged his heels in reluctance. His blue eyes were uneasy as he glanced about, hissing at his little sister to keep her voice down even as he kept an eye out for signs of their mum or dad.

They'd kill him if they knew he was shirking his babysitting duties, and yet Harry was not to be deterred. She tugged on his wrist, giving him a skin-burn even as she ducked and twisted through the back alleys of their village, fair hair constantly having to be brushed out of her eyes. She hummed with impatience, coiled and hot in her gut.

 

“Mum and dad don't want us wandering out too far, and most of the rivers in town have gone dry. We've had such a heat-wave this year....”

 

As if to punctuate his point, he wiped his forehead and his hand came away slick with sweat. John grimaced in distaste. However his sister didn't appear to notice. She was already imagining the Great River to the east of the village, picturing what it'd be like to swim in its cool depths. She could almost taste its sweet drink, and it made her hasten her steps, pulling John along like a ragdoll.

Then again, he didn't protest too much physically, instead mostly verbal.

 

“What if we get caught? There's a curfew installed for a reason Harriet! Something's been attacking the chickens at night....”

 

His sister snorted, dismissing it with a wave of her hand.

“Foxes. Even you said so at dinner last night. Besides, we'll be back by nightfall. Come  _oooooonnnnnnn!_ ”

 

So, against his better judgement, John let himself be pulled along. For he was hot and tired of being so, and he longed for a cool drink. Also, he had been bored out of his eighteen-year old mind with the curfew installed lately. He and Murray and Mike. With what had been attacking the animals still a mystery, the village had been under virtual siege. Every night, the elders prayed atop the shrine for their Water Spirit to come, to bring healing to the land. But as of yet, there had only been more dust. More dust and oppressive heat.

Truthfully, John had his doubts that the Water Spirit, if he even existed that is, was particularly inclined to help them.

 

He and Harriet used the exit through the back wall, hidden under the azalea bushes that were now more brown than green. Their footsteps crunched dryly against the branches as they ducked to avoid notice by the city guard Gregarious Lestrade.

 

Then they were tumbling downhill, rolling because Harry was sometimes silly and dreadfully impish and pulled her older brother along with her so that the young man stumbled and couldn't regain his balance in time. At the bottom of the hill John scowled between giggles, picking bits of yellow grass and dandelion fluff from his hair. His sister wasn't in a much better state, cackling maniacally even as she stood and brushed off her skirts. John made lunge for her, to push her back into the grass, but she skipped away. Soon they were chasing after one another, laughing and shouting and kicking up dust-bowls behind them.

 

They were making so much noise, they barely noticed when the grass beneath their feet slowly became greener, and the dust beneath their feet turned to clay, soft and moist. It seemed like only a second later when Harry whooped for joy, pointing to the river bank in excitement. She and John both then ran the rest of the way, stumbling towards the edge and dipping their hands into the cool depths. John drank deeply, the water tasting pure and ice-cold and sending shivers through his body of equal parts delight and cold.

 

Harry barely had time to collect herself before her older brother suddenly scooped her up, tossing her in with a loud shriek and  _splash_ that roused a certain Spirit from their doze above. Sherlock glared as he rolled over, peering down at the peasant children that were currently mucking around in his river. He sneered at their smiling faces, annoyed at having been woken up from the lovely dream he'd been having. He had chased after a hurricane, his dark hair blowing in the gale as he'd laughed in the storm's face and caught it by the ends of its fingertips.

 

Waking up to not only heat but two stupid children engaging in some mindless plight to drown one another was certainly not nearly as amusing.

 

Still, he sat up in slight curiosity, if only because Humans didn't usually come out this far, afraid of the Shadow Spirit and his grinning mouth that stretched like a cat's on moonless nights. The two creatures below him were obviously young, and obviously here when they were not supposed to be. The older one, a boy -no almost a man- was just peeling off the sopping thin layer of his tunic, revealing tanned arms muscled from hard labour. One shoulder was scarred, Sherlock identified the reason immediately.

 

_Mill accident. Got caught in the grindstone. Lucky he kept the arm at all._

 

The younger one, his sister the Water Spirit realised, was busy tying her wet skirts higher up to her knees, skinny legs paler than her brother's and yet still very dark. She yelped his name as she splashed about, appearing to only be about twelve or thirteen and still filled with the energy of a little kid.

 

“Watch, John! Watch what I can do!”

Sherlock and John alike watched as Harriet dove into the depth of the stream, doing a barrel-roll before rising back to the surface. She gasped air, chest heaving, and broke into a grin when John applauded for her.

 

The Water Spirit didn't really think the simple trick merited such excitement, and yet the young man flashed a smile that was as warm and genuine as the sun, so open and gentle that for a moment Sherlock felt slightly stunned.

It lasted for only a second, but he quite suddenly found himself wishing that this “John” would do it again.

If only for experiment's sake.

The two siblings carried on in much this way, working together in a way that Sherlock had never seen sibling do so well. Most of his brothers and sisters were foolish creatures, and even Mycroft, whom Sherlock actually deigned to call  _brother_ every now and then was pompous and arrogant and cold.

 

Yet John and Harry seemed to get along well, playing games in the water and having a grand time even as slowly the sun began to sink in the sky. Sherlock found himself thoroughly distracted by the pair, particularly Jounhin, who caught his eye in looks as well as intelligence. It was obvious the young man wanted to be a doctor. Sherlock could tell from the callous on his hands and the way in which he watched over his sister. Medical. Caring. He'd make a good one too. Sherlock's many abilities included being able to sense when someone had healing capabilities, and John glowed a faint copper with the natural gift of someone prone to help. As the sun set the river turned a dark reddish-orange, and John's hair turned white with the last echoes of day as he looked up and realised with a start the time.

 

His head turned once towards Sherlock's cloud, as if questioning why he didn't tell him before he turned back towards Harry. Sherlock found in his chest was a strange pang of annoyance even as he glared at his father, high in the sky. He suddenly wished that dawn would last just a fraction of a moment more.

Still, he shook those thoughts from his head as they were irritatingly sentimental, listening curiously as John called Harriet.

 

“Harriet! We need to go! Mum's going to kill us!”

 

Seeming to finally acknowledge the time passed, both siblings rushed to gather their wet clothes. The droplets of water on John's back glittered in the setting sun even as he shrugged on his shirt, nothing to be done about his still-sopping trousers. Sherlock found himself so preoccupied with the movement of those strong shoulders that he didn't notice the slight shuddering in the grass, or how a wicked grin curled from inside the darkness.

 

Neither children of Walter noticed either, Harry too busy searching for the pin that tied her hair in place and John struggling to fit the arm-holes of his tunic properly. The younger one pawed at the ground fruitlessly, fingers only touching muddy soil as she searched for the pretty hair-pin her best friend Clara had given to her. The one shaped like a little bird. She gradually searched further and further into the brush, finding nothing, and barely had time to react when a shadowy hand gripped her wrist.

 

John heard Harriet's scream a second before he turned. He faced her just in time to see his sister being dragged back into the deepest part of the river, a shadowy, snake-like thing coiled about her throat.

 

Sherlock heard John's cry. He watched as the the young man didn't even bother to peel off his shirt again, face twisted in fear and rage as he screamed.

“ _Harriet!!!”_

 

Though Human's vision was limited by night-time, Sherlock could see everything with startling clarity. The Shadow-Spirit had Harriet by the throat, dragging her deeper into the water despite her kicking and struggles. John swam after them, body streamlined and agile, but he had to keep coming up for air. The Water Spirit felt frozen, torn between being a passive watcher and an active participant. On the one hand, the Laws forbade him from engaging with Humans. Only lesser Spirits could do so, as the Shadow Spirit was required to eat and thus hunted them. He could only get involved unless directly  _asked_ to, and that would involve  _prayer._ Still he found himself leaning on the edge of his cloud with bated breath, eyes wide as he took in the scene where he came to fear would become a murder in cold blood.

 

For the first time, he actually  _wanted_ to help.

 

For the first time, he  _couldn't._

 

John swam closer to the Shadow Spirit's inky form, attacking it blindly in the water. It snarled, releasing Harriet only to curl around the young man's throat. John's hands came to clutch at the spider-like tendrils filling his mouth and curling about his neck, lungs screaming for air even as Harriet resurfaced and shrieked after him. There was little she could do, she was coughing up water and John's name in equal parts even as her brother kicked and fought. His resistance got steadily weaker the more Sherlock watched in abject horror.

 

Sherlock could hear the boy's thoughts, all laced with panic and terror. Echoing in his mind like bells getting fainter and fainter. He could feel the restraints, pinning him to his cloud, making him unable to move and yet unable to look away even as he fought as hard as he possibly could. He slumped against the cloud in disappointed sadness when John's body went limp. After finally seeing a Human he thought  _might_ be worth the time to care for, he was broken and taken from the Spirit. This was why Sherlock didn't like sentiment, just when it felt like things might finally be good, Humans stupidly mucked things up.

 

He knew it wasn't fair to blame John and Harriet, but he couldn't help it.

After all, they could have just called on him.

Gods knew everyone else seemed to.

 

Sherlock was just about to turn away, refusing to watch as the body that was once John, son of Walter be eaten by the Shadow Spirit. He froze however as a single, last-trickling thought filled his head.

 

A prayer.

 

_Please, Gods, let me live._

 

And the ropes binding him to the cloud released, and Sherlock wasted no time. Turning, he plunged towards the river, thunder crackling overhead as he rushed to save the curious little Humans that had so very much caught his attention.

 

****

Drowning hurt.

This was John's conclusion even as the water filled his mouth, filled his lungs and filled his stomach. Like liquid lead weight, he became heavy with it. Heavy as stone. In the water's blur, he could make out the shadow. The darkness that was holding him tightly like a lover might, all black and shadow save for a curling smile and dark, endless eyes. He might have screamed, if his lungs weren't already begging for air. Distantly, he could hear his sister's cries. They were muffled underwater.

 

Eventually, everything became muffled.

 

Like going to sleep. John somehow knew he should stay awake, and yet his eyes wouldn't stop closing. The water was cold.

Freezing.

Everything was fading from him.

Everything.

 

_Please, Gods, let me live._

 

And then fireworks exploded behind his eyelids, and there was a mighty crackling noise, and John felt himself being pulled into arms as strong and warm as a fire.

 

And soft lips pressing against his,  _pulling_ the water from his parted lips like a tide being drawn out to sea. John's eyes fluttered, and the last thing he saw before his world went grey was a pair of impossibly blue-green eyes staring into his.

 

When he woke, the only thing that was left was Harry's quietly crying form, and a round, smooth stone in the palm of his hand.

It was the exact same shade as those strange and beautiful irises, the colour of the river itself.

 

****

Many talked of the Water God, the one who protected the village of Recheinbach. The one that finally let it rain after a seemingly endless year of dry season. The villagers found themselves with harvest aplenty that year, sweet corn and rice growing to their needs and even in overabundance. No one could exactly pin down what had happened to the village itself, or the greater city for that matter.

 

Yet John would watch the rain fall sometimes, clutching the stone in his hand, and he swore that sometimes, just before he drifted off to sleep, he heard a symphony in each and every crack of thunder, in every single droplet of water that hit his window pane. He could hear the whispering of a song, like viola notes trembling over his head. 

And sometimes, in the depths of his sleep, he felt those lips press against his one more time, a silent reminder that in this world, there were some things even logic couldn't quite explain. And in his hand, the stone would glow.

 

Sherlock had never been happier.


End file.
